


grief shared

by ballerinaroy



Series: together or not at all [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affection, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: Ron's day at Azkaban had been particularly draining. Harry and Hermione know exactly what to do.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Series: together or not at all [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632493
Comments: 13
Kudos: 161





	grief shared

“Harry?” Ron called into the flat. “Hermione?”

He hadn’t expected to beat them home but wanted to make sure before letting go of the carefree facade. With no reply, Ron let out a long sigh and let his cloak drop unceremoniously from his shoulders to the floor where it pooled around him.

When there was still no reply he let his trousers and buttondown fall with it. It was like this every evening, itching to get out of his clothes and away from the nauseating moldy smell that followed him home. It wasn’t the work but the building itself that made it so terrible. Azkaban.

His own punishment for falling in love with his best mate. _Mates_.

Thankfully the work in its self wasn’t terrible. Overseeing renovations, putting his strategic mind to work in devising a way to keep their prisoners safe while still treating them with dignity. It was like a puzzle, a game of chess against each opponent. Getting to know them, figuring out the prison’s weak spots. Most days it was fun but today...

His clothes shed Ron hurried through the flat, intent on getting in the shower and scrubbing his grief from him before Hermione or Harry came home and bore witness to it. The day had already been terrible, he didn’t need to infect them too.

The water was scalding when he stepped until the stream but Ron barely felt it. He began scrubbing at his skin, trying to wash away the chill, the nauseating moldy smell that clung to his skin.

He knew they could feel it too, though they never said anything. Their eyes would avoid his, offer him tea or hold his hand to keep warm. Still no matter their efforts it was at least an hour every night, cuddled before the fire even though it was almost June before he felt again like himself.

After-effects of the dementors, long since banished. Leaving their stain on the retched place.

“Ron?”

Ron hadn’t even heard Harry come in for his frantic efforts to cleanse himself. The steam raced away, towards the opening, and Ron could see Harry’s head peeking through the door.

“Yeah?” he asked, hoping for another moment alone and feeling selfish for wanting it.

Thankfully Harry didn’t ask about his day or to join him and merely asked in a mild voice, “I was about to make a cuppa, care for one?”

“Yeah,” he said, relieved. “Love one.”

Harry didn’t ask about his day although he hesitated in the doorway for Ron to speak but Ron didn’t tell… couldn’t.

“Alright,” Harry said finally and closed the door, cutting off the draft, and Ron let out a sigh, scrubbing himself with renewed effort.

He felt on a clock, a deadline to finish, and leave his refuge for the security of his boyfriend’s arms.

 _Boyfriend_.

Despite the chill, despite the overwhelming dread he was still trying to rid himself of, Ron felt a stirring just below his navel as the term carelessly drifted through his thoughts.

Ron came out and found Harry, already changed out of his Auror’s robes and back into his pajamas from the night before. He was sitting on the bed, a book propped open against his knees and smiled at Ron when he walked in.

“How was work?” Ron asked, walking over to the chest of drawers, hoping there was another clean set of sweats waiting for him.

“Boring,” answered Harry in a would-be casual voice. Only Ron knew him, knew the work he was doing and saw through him. “Though I did overhear Sylvia was going to be taking leave next month. Something about her sister…”

Harry continued rattling on about the gossip in the office as Ron got dressed and slid under the covers, sitting in the middle of the bed, their arms flush. Ron was grateful for the distraction and listened, intently as Harry handed him his tea and went on for a good while about nothing.

Their after-work routine had become significantly less exciting ever since they’d all been reassigned. Too drained from the work to even indulge in their new relationship. And yet, none of them ever talked about rectifying the problem.

It was a stupid game of chicken between them all. Who would crack under the pressure first and hand in their resignation. Hermione, her work stripped from her, Harry stuck in an office revising Thickneese’s attempt to re-write history. And he, prison.

“Who knows?” Harry finished, his voice painfully hopeful. “Maybe they’ll let us take over for them.”

It was a long shot, at best. They both knew that their punishment was likely only starting.

“Yeah, if only I wasn’t so good at this,” Ron joked, causing a strained smile on Harry’s face.

“That’s too bad isn’t it, I’m starting to suspect you’re just good at every job you try,” Harry teased, but it didn’t feel quite natural.

He took Ron’s empty mug from him without asking and as he did so their fingers brushed. Ron didn’t miss how Harry flinched a little. Even after the shower and the tea Ron could still feel a bit of a chill.

Any moment now Harry would get that sad look on his face, as if it’d all been his fault when none of this was. Ron braced himself for it but Harry merely set aside Ron’s cup and joined him under the covers, urging Ron’s hands onto his back which was amazingly warm.

“Any ideas for the weekend?” Harry asked quietly.

Ron knew how hard he was trying. Harry, quickest of the three to brood, had never been particularly chatty.

“George said Lee’s got extra tickets to the Tornados match,” Ron answered, “We could go.”

But even as the words left his mouth he knew they wouldn’t—couldn’t without making another headline.

“Although, I think Hermione might prefer to catch the match on the wireless,” Ron went on and felt Harry breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, I suspect she might.” Answered Harry. He looked happier at the prospect. “We could order in, make a night out of it.”

It was how they spent all their nights now. Ordering in, trying not to be seen, trying to make the world forget.

“Ron? Harry?”

“In here!” called Harry.

Ron’s clothes that he’d stepped out of upon arriving zoomed into the room and landed neatly in the hamper ahead of Hermione. He braced himself for the reminder that he needed to look after himself but Hermione merely paused in the doorway, a smile on her face.

“Well don’t the two of you look cozy?” she asked, taking in the sight.

“Cozier if you joined us,” Ron offered, watching as she stepped out of her skirt.

Hermione took no further prompting, tossing her own work outfit towards the hamper and putting on an old shirt of Harry’s.

She fell in on his other side and sighed happily, tangling her leg with his. Even after the shower, his skin felt cold and her soft skin felt warm against his. She kissed him on the cheek and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, letting out another one of those little happy noises.

She didn’t ask how his day was either, holding him close and absorbing some of the chill. In fact lying here, surrounded by them, it was hard to remember what had been so bad about his day, why he’d come home so drained.

“I ran into Andromeda today,” Hermione murmured. “She invited us for tea tomorrow.”

Harry, whom Ron had thought had drifted off, was alert at once. “Why was she at the ministry?”

“Committee meeting,” Hermione answered, just a hint of bitterness to her voice. “She stopped by after. Told me she’d been writing but…”

“Oh,” said Harry, looking upset.

“She understands,” Hermione assured him, moving the hand that had been tucked under her chin to squeeze Harry’s. “Said she went through it too, advised it was best to chuck it all in the fire.”

“Good advice,” Harry said softly, settling back down and running his hand absently up and down Ron’s side. It almost tickled, but the whisper of a touch lulled him closer to sleep.

A well deserved afternoon nap, he reasoned, would be good for them all. The stress of the week, always on the move, meant that during the week they hadn’t been sleeping well. Harry and Hermione seemed on board, settling down onto him, surrounding him. Their weight was welcome, enticing. And then, just as his breath began to slow and his only thought was the tickling of Hermione’s hair against his chin, it came back to him.

The reason he’d been so upset, what had made the day so long. His heart quickened, his breathing became shallow.

“Ron?” Harry asked, the concern evident in his voice.

Ron didn’t trust himself to speak but they didn’t expect an answer. At once they were both there, a new intensity to their comforting touch. Harry gripping him tight, Hermione clinging to his neck and kissing his face, his neck, wherever their lips could find.

“Sorry,” he managed, still stupidly fighting the urge to cry.

Ron thought he’d gotten it all out in the shower, wanted to shield them from the raw emotion. He reasoned they had enough going on without his work to burden them. It was they, more so than he, who’d been demonized and ostracized.

“It’s alright,” Hermione murmured, holding him tighter than ever.

He looked over at Harry who wore the same expression he knew he’d given him so many times. _Don’t be a prat_ , it said _we love you_ , it said, _we’re here for you, let it out_.

“I saw it today,” he managed, voice still very strange. “Sirius’ cell.”

A sharp intake of air from either side, a renewed round of gripping, touching, needing to know that the other two were safe and still there. Ron felt he should stop, should spare them from the horrible sight of the place Sirius had called home for over a decade.

But Harry’s eyes, whom Ron had been unable to resist, were begging him to share his pain. And so he did.

Describing the out of body experience he’d had once he’d known, inspecting every inch and finding only a dozen black dog hairs, ingrained in the stone, to prove that he’d ever been there. Having to stand there and listen to the discussions about how Sirius might have escaped.

The horrible jokes and cruel comments as Ron, again and again, reminded his cohorts that Sirius had been proved innocent when Pettigrew’s body had been discovered. Which had brought on a whole ‘nother round of guilt.

It was there, sandwiched between them, that he gave up on being stoic. All of the anguish, the trauma of the day washed over him again and again.

Sirius who’d escaped one prison only to be sent back to his childhood one.

Sirius who’d felt bad about taking one pet and sent him another in return.

Sirius who’d fought so desperately to protect Harry.

Sirius who’d died doing just that.

Ron wasn’t sure for how long he lay there in a tight embrace, letting it all flow from him. When he had the sense to look over at Harry, worried that he might have upset him, Harry’s expression mirrored his own.

“I didn’t tell them,” Ron told Harry then, needing to him to know that he hadn’t betrayed his Godfather’s secret. “I wouldn’t-“

But Harry silenced him with a chaste kiss, looking into his eyes deeply and said, “It’s alright.”

The guilt that had been churning inside him began to wash away, distracted by the way tear droplets clung to Harry’s eyelashes.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Harry went on, “And even if you had I wouldn’t care. You knew him too.”

Hermione stirred and when he glanced at her found a look of deep admiration on her face. He caught her eye and she pressed her lips to his chest.

“I couldn’t image,” she whispered, “That was very brave of you.”

It hadn’t felt brave. All-day he had been battling thoughts of weakness and cowardliness but the look in their eyes made those thoughts feel suddenly small. Hermione and Harry were the bravest people that he knew and to see them looking at him like they were…

His grief, shared, felt lighter.

He didn’t say anything, couldn’t think of the words. Instead, he gave Hermione a sleepy smile as she stroked his hair and Harry nuzzled down, laying his nose in the crook of Ron’s neck. He would get through this…they would. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all need to start calling me out when I have typos in my summary/title because this is getting embarrassing. 
> 
> PS: I hope you're all staying safe. The world is scary. Look for kindness whenever you can find it.


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